


Like that saying, with the cat.

by xantissa



Series: Darker Corners [1]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: M/M, POV Sheriff Stilinski, Sheriff Stilinski Finds Out, outside pov, response to my prompt-post
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-23
Updated: 2013-04-23
Packaged: 2017-12-09 07:08:04
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,702
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/771427
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/xantissa/pseuds/xantissa
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Sheriff happens upon one of the wall-slamming incidents.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Like that saying, with the cat.

He wasn’t really surprised anymore as he caught a glimpse of his son in the part of town Stiles absolutely wasn’t supposed to be, loitering by one of the condemned buildings near the old factory, his red hoodie a long distance call sign.

With a sigh more tired than angry anymore, the Sheriff slowed down his car, cruised to the nearest intersection and turned left, intending to make a circle and drive by his wayward offspring and maybe scare some sense into him.

What he didn’t expect as he turned left again was to see the very familiar black Camaro. He remembered it very well ever since that damn manhunt for Derek Hale.

Worried now, he parked the car as much out of sight as possible and checked his gun. He got out, hoping to sneak up on his son and maybe learn something about all the things Stiles got himself into and never wanted to talk about.

He just barely reached the corner of the street as he heard a muffled crash and then a thump. He pulled his gun out and leaned over the corner to see what was happening.

The first thing he saw was the pulverized remains of what was previously a boarded up door, and Derek freakin’ Hale, dressed in jeans and his trademark black tee-shirt and black leather jacket. He looked mussed and dirty, a streak of something dark smeared over his cheek and jaw. He was glowering and bearing straight for Stiles. His son had his hands in the air and was talking a mile a minute, all the while backing up rapidly.

They were too far away from him for the Sheriff to hear anything, but he could read the body language well enough, he understood the very much not implied physical threat in Hale. The older man was big, confident in his body and his physicality that made lesser men cower in fear. The Sheriff saw it enough, people, men usually, who knew they could cause heavy damage carried themselves with that certain aura of danger. His son seemed to see it too because his body was tilted back, stretching his neck in a subconscious effort to ease the confrontation. 

Hale said something and instantly Sheriff knew it was the wrong thing. Like a switch has been flicked, Stiles stopped backpedaling. His hands that had been palms up and pacifying just a moment ago, curled into fists at his sides. He clenched his jaw and lowered his head, hiding his neck and spread his legs making his stance instantly more offensive rather than the avoidance of before.

In a matter of seconds the whole scene changed. Now Stiles was spitting words at a slower pace, his tone lower but still just a murmur to the sheriff, no words recognizable. He spat things angrily at Hale, moving towards the man now, face getting red from anger, his son was virtually spitting at the much bigger male.

The Sheriff always knew his son was headstrong and not afraid of speaking his mind, god was he aware, but this was just sheer stupidity. He watched, alarmed as Hale’s shoulders pulled back, making him look even bigger than before. He was so effortlessly threatening, so physical it seemed like a suicide to rile the man so much without some kind of leverage.

There were more words, angry gestures on both sides and less and less space between them. In a matter of seconds they were almost spitting into each other faces. He knew he should interfere before the argument transformed into altercation but...

There was something different about Stiles.

There was a kind of intensity, a stubborn almost fearless fire. Unlike his usual self he didn’t curl his shoulders down, didn’t seem awkward in his body. Instead he pulled his shoulders back, made as much use of his gangly frame as possible and he didn’t seem to back down an inch from Hale’s obviously threatening posture. He seemed to invade the older man’s space deliberately in a way that spoke of something the Sheriff suspected but never expected to see confirmed.

Stiles knew Derek Hale. Not only knew of him, no, his son knew the man personally. Knew him enough to get into his face like that, to almost invite a physical response.

It really wasn’t a surprise even if was still a shock to see Hale snarl suddenly, his hands flying to the red hoodie and hauling his son up as if he weighed nothing. And sure, Stiles was gangly and kind of scrawny, but he was still tall and had some solid muscles from all his Lacrosse training. Seeing him hauled up and slammed against the wall, feet dangling in the air, was shocking enough to stop the Sheriff in his tracks.

Somehow Hale seemed even bigger now than before. In this position he could see the man’s biceps bulging even through the leather jacket, saw the leather pull on his back, molding itself to the man’s physique, giving more than a hint to the sheer power trained into that body.

Stiles had one of his hands clenched on the man’s wrist, his eyes wide and mouth open, panting.

Just as the Sheriff was going to pull his gun and break this altercation before somebody got truly hurt, he realized something important.

They weren’t arguing any more.

Stiles hung in the dark haired man’s grip, one hand still closed around a thick wrist but he wasn’t talking, yelling or even pleading. He stared at Hale’s face, almost motionless. The other man also seemed frozen, pressed almost bodily to Stiles.

Some distant corner of Sheriff’s brain wondered at sheer strength needed to hold up someone Stile’s size in the air for such a length of time and not show any signs of strain while other, more panicked part tried and failed not to see what was happening.

Like watching an accident, horrified but unable to look away, he watched as if in slow motion as Hale lowered his eyes. It probably took a fraction of a second, but Hale’s eyes slid from glaring into his son’s eyes to his lips. That wouldn’t really be so bad, something that could be explained, just a meaningless gesture, if it wasn’t for what his son did.

Stiles licked his lips, as still as a man hanging in somebody else’s grip could be. That one tiny gesture, that almost insignificant move felt like a brick to the head to the Sheriff. As much as he didn’t want to admit it, or more like didn’t want to see it in such a perfect detail, his son was attracted to Hale. Sexually attracted. 

The whole fight, the whole unprecedented intensity now made so much sense. 

So many things made so much sense now. 

He watched, both horrified and entranced, as both of them seemed getting closer to each other. He saw as Hale’s body language changed subtly. It still screamed domination but the edge of physical threat got somehow blunted. His son wasn’t an innocent bystander in this. He shifted his head again, opening his throat again, shifting from the openly fighting position into something between challenge and invitation, never once breaking his stare.

The sheriff would feel almost proud for this show of courage if it didn’t feel as if he was losing ground under his feet, fast.

Suddenly Hale’s nostrils flared and he jerked back, letting go of Stiles and backing up a few steps as if burned. Stiles stumbled and fell to the ground, taking along two empty crates in his usual giraffe fashion. 

The older man paced away, carding his hand through his short hair, eyes closed, almost painful expression on his face.

Stiles pulled himself from the ground into a standing position again and looked at Hale. His shoulders were hunched in a familiar, defensive way, his face red, be it from exertion, anger or something else, and now, now he looked scared.

He said something and Hale honest to god flinched, jerking his eyes away from Stiles. He said nothing, just turned to his car, got in and pulled away as if the hounds of hell were after him. He looked as scared as the sheriff had ever seen him, shoulders hunched, eyes lowered. Even in the interrogation cell, he never looked afraid.

Stiles didn’t look all that better. He had two red spots on his unusually pale face and both hands rubbing at the back of his neck while he mumbled something to himself. At the sound of burning rubber, he looked up and yelled:

“Fuck you, Derek!”

He bent down to grab some random debris from the ground and threw it uselessly after the long gone car.

“Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.” He yelled on what the Sheriff recognized was the edge of tears.

It felt like an eternity, but was probably only just moments before the Sheriff heard his son’s cell going off, the ring shrill in the quiet of the abandoned street.

As if what he witnessed before wasn’t earth shattering enough, he watched as his son pulled the phone, checked the display and then closed his eyes. From one moment to the next, the Sheriff could almost see him stuffing everything down, closing up. Because when he opened his eyes and put the phone to his ear he answered in a perfectly normal voice:

“What’s up Scott?”

The Sheriff holstered his gun and turned back towards his car. He needed to talk to Stiles, of course he did. But now it seemed like the things he needed to talk about were a bit different to what he thought before.

He rubbed his face and wished his wife was still alive. Jesus, his son was most probably gay, maybe bisexual and he’d never noticed. His son could also go from totally wrecked to appearing completely normal in a matter of seconds and that was not something one could just do. It was something one had to learn by experience.

A few moments ago he thought there were things Stiles was hiding from him. Things he didn’t know. Now it looked like he didn’t know a damn thing about his son as well.

The End.


End file.
